


All Roads

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Edible Shoe Polish, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Intimacy, Light Angst, M/M, POV Magnus Bane, Sensory Deprivation, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 07:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20223790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: Years ago, Magnus wanted to cut himself off from feeling anything. Now, when he can barely cope for a day without feeling Alec's touch on his skin, he wonders how he could have ever thought that living like this forever was possible.





	All Roads

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little soft sad loving nonsense. I like them being tender and a bit angsty and mushy, it turns out. I didn't mean sensory deprivation in the sexy way, but it's taken that route nearer the end. Fade to black though, sadly. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, this is unedited, because I hyperfocused like a bitch and now it’s one in the morning.

Magnus has never felt lost like this before. He is a person that communicates with words, with touch. He uses himself to reassure others. It is the most comfortable way to exist, and now it’s gone, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“It’s only for a day, you said,” Alec reminds him, as Magnus dithers near the window. He’s shaded by the half-drawn curtains, holding a shoe and a pot of polish, and he’s been subtly watching Magnus for the last ten minutes when he thinks Magnus isn't paying attention. 

“Right,” Magnus agrees, not really listening. “A day.”

When Alec turns back to the shoe, Magnus uses his magic to lift the window. Silently. And then he rolls up his sleeve and sticks his hand straight out of the gap, into the midst of pouring rain. 

A gust of wind blows through the room with a shuddering sound, rifling papers. Behind him, Alec sighs. 

“Fascinating,” Magnus says lightly, though not lightly enough to convince his doubting husband. 

The rain feels like nothing. It lands there on his skin, shining in the cloudy afternoon light, but he can’t feel it. It's not wet or pressure or anything.

The chair creaks as Alec stands, abandoning his unpolished shoes. Magnus hears his footsteps and the steady breaths he takes grow louder, and there’s a rustle of clothing, but when he glances down, there are hands on his waist. He didn't feel them land there. In the reflection of the window, Alec’s mouth is pressed against Magnus’s neck, but he can’t feel it. 

“Fascinating,” Magnus says again, and this time his voice dips and quivers. 

“Magnus,” Alec says, suddenly loud in his ear. “Shut the window before you get sick.”

“I don't get sick, and I’ll thank you not to make such baseless accusations.”

The reflection of Alec rolls his eyes. He leans around Magnus, and Magnus doesn’t realise he’s being pushed slightly until the wall gets closer, and then his hand is inside. It’s no colder than it was outside. The rain stops being quite so loud when the window slams shut under Alec’s forceful command. 

“Nothing like this has ever happened before,” Magnus says, not entirely sure where the words come from. He didn't intend to speak, but with Alec, the words come freely. He hopes they always will. “I mean, there was that time I blinded myself in one eye, and once I gave myself a broken ankle. But that was when I was still learning. When I was younger.”

Alec turns him. Magnus has been walking barefoot for the last four hours, but he doesn’t feel the hardwood on the soles of his feet. He hears it squeak. He can see Alec’s hands on his shoulders, and his serious expression, but he cannot feel any of it. His hand is still wet, judging by the shine there. He dried it absently on his trousers, but gives up quickly.

“Accidents happen no matter how old and wise you are,” Alec says, with a hint of teasing that turns serious soon. “What would you do if I injured myself on patrol?”

Blinking at him, Magnus raises an eyebrow. It’s strange not to feel his own face, but he has enough wit to make it do what he wants. It’s more about what touches him than feeling his own body. 

“Come on.” Alec nudges him, but the action is fruitless. “What would you do?”

“Heal you,” Magnus says. 

“And after? When I was beating myself up for not being good enough, or strong enough, and my hands were bleeding from shooting arrow after arrow? When I was moping in our bed because I’ve been a Shadowhunter for years, and I should be better by now?”

“Not to brag, but I have a substantial amount of years on you,” Magnus points out. 

“Magnus.”

“I would tell you not to be foolish, and that your worth as a Shadowhunter, as a person, is never defined by one moment. And I do see your point, my dear, I just don't like it.” Magnus waves a hand while Alec draws him into the room, away from the senseless rain. He tries not to stumble, but as far as his feet are concerned, there is no floor beneath him. They walk on air, on invisible clouds. His skin is numb. 

“You never like it when I’m right.”

“Not true,” Magnus counteracts immediately, because he can’t let such ridiculous lies go unchallenged. “Your smug satisfaction is infuriatingly attractive. I like it a lot, Alexander.”

Alec snorts gently, shaking his head as they fold onto the couch. But it kicks Magnus’s pulse up a notch, not to feel the fabric beneath him. He feels his own weight and the way it settles into nothing, but there is no familiar softness of leather, nor the reassuring weight of Alec’s legs tangled with his. 

A hand on his face that Magnus doesn’t feel, and _God,_ he wants to. Instead he watches hungrily, his breath lurching. Alec’s eyes are always so kind, but whenever they’re levelled his way, another layer is added. A softer, more intense layer that’s just for him. 

“Breathe,” Alec tells him, in a way that makes it clear it’s not a request. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Magnus lets out a painful, ragged breath and says, “I can’t _feel_ you.”

Alec’s brows crinkle. They’re closely entwined, but there’s nothing to show for it. No sense to prove it. Magnus stares at Alec’s eyes and feels like a ghost, a shade of himself. The only time his magic has ever hurt him like this was when he didn't have it. Now it ebbs and flows near the ceiling, a vast pool of blue that he doesn’t have control over, that he can’t feel on his skin. It will be a while before it simmers down and floods him, in the wake of the spell breaking. 

“So watch me,” Alec says suddenly. 

He lifts their hands. They’re joined, the fingers clasped together. Alec makes sure to touch the ring on Magnus’s finger, the one that belongs to both of them, as he presses a kiss to Magnus’s palm. 

Magnus shakes his head fiercely. “I can’t feel it, Alexander. It’s not--how do I know this is--?”

“Real?” Alec shifts closer, pain visible in his eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve questioned each other, convinced they never made it this far. Sometimes Magnus wakes up in the dark, sheets twisted around his ankles while he sweats buckets, and he has to reach out and grab Alec’s hand. He has to feel the rings they both own. Sometimes he wakes with Alec’s fingers pressed against his pulse, and listens to faint murmurs of relief in the dark.

When you have something so good, so precious--sometimes it is hard to believe that you get to keep it. Sometimes it’s hard to believe you ever had it at all. 

“I can see it, but I don't feel it. It’s like a dream, but I can’t wake up.” Magnus squeezes his eyes shut and floats in the blackness behind his lids. There’s a partial light peeking through, but he can’t feel anything. Not his clothes or the air on his skin, or the couch beneath him or Alec’s hands. "I tried to stop feeling for so long, but I never wanted something like this."

Alec stays silent. 

“You could do anything,” Magnus says wonderingly, eyes still closed. “Anyone could. I wouldn’t feel it. Someone could put a knife straight through my skin and I--”

He opens his eyes, dull horror sitting heavily in his chest. Alec’s face is set and determined, his skin pale. Magnus doesn’t need to feel it to know that his hand is caught in a death-grip; he can see it in the buttery white of Alec’s knuckles, threatening to pop. 

“Sorry, love,” Magnus says quietly, contrite. “There was no need for that.”

“You’re scared,” Alec says, forcing the words out through his gritted jaw. “I’m scared too. But I trust you and your magic, and I know you’re right when you say this won’t last long. Until then, you’ll just have to stay very far away from knives.”

“Back to my regular knifing haunts tomorrow, then.”

The look Alec aims at the ceiling brings a smile to his face. He lifts his hand, heavy with the weight of not owning the space inside his skin, and presses it to Alec’s face. He watches it. Alec’s cheek gives easily enough under Magnus’s fingers, but he doesn’t feel the softness of his skin, or the rough scrape of the stubble on his jaw. He drags his hand down, aching, but there’s nothing. 

He’s never felt nothing where Alec is concerned before. 

“Magnus,” Alec says, so very softly, before a familiar light enters his eyes. 

Magnus likes this light--he likes all things regarding Alexander, even the bad and the messy and the strangely slobbish--but he likes it in small doses. This light means mischief and potentially couch-ruining ideas are afoot. 

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Magnus begins warily, “I’d appreciate it if you put a pin in the thought.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” Alec says, reaching for the shoe polish. 

Magnus waits. He’s not one for letting doom come to him, but when it’s in Alec’s hands, he might just dawdle. He watches Alec unscrew the lid of the shoe polish, and then set the pot down on his thigh. 

“You’ve never polished a shoe in your life,” Magnus realises suddenly. “Why…?”

“I had to have something to do. You’d be mad if you thought I was just hanging around and keeping an eye on you, and I finished my book. One of my characters got killed off so I’m pissed.” Alec’s frown grows prominent as he dips his fingers into the shoe polish. “I’m not reading the sequel until the author gets his shit together and writes the last one.”

“With your favourite character reborn?” Magnus’s mouth twitches. It’s hard to feel so untethered in the middle of this conversation, with Alec all around him and his glare so familiar. 

“And a personal apology to me in the dedication,” Alec agrees mildly, holding up his hand. “You still have some magic, right? Can you make this safe for the skin?”

He _can,_ but he’s not sure if he should. 

“Trust me,” Alec says. 

It’s not even a decision anymore. Trusting Alec is in his bones, his blood, his being. If they cracked him open and peered inside, they’d find it mingled in the debris of his existence. Magnus concentrates, murmuring under his breath, until he coaxes the shoe polish apart, altering parts of it until the chemicals fizz and flutter. 

“Done,” he says, sitting back slightly. He sits a little too far to the left, missing the back of the couch and landing on his back, vaguely winded. 

“Oh, this is actually easier,” Alec says, appearing above him with an angelic grin. He must be straddling his thighs, and that’s--unfair. Magnus wants to feel that. He _deserves_ to feel that. 

“It’s edible too, but don't eat it all at once or you won’t be hungry when dinner rolls around.”

Alec leans down for a kiss, silencing him. Magnus keeps his eyes wide open, watching Alec’s lashes flutter and the slice of cheekbone grow so close. His mouth is numb. It’s oddly intimate, the sound of the rain only amplifying what he can’t feel, but he _can_ see. He doesn’t understand why it feels lovely, this moment, when he craves for it to be so very different.

“I think you might be a fever dream,” Magnus murmurs, when Alec pulls back. 

“I think you might be incredibly dramatic,” Alec says, but his eyes say different. When he raises his fingers and traces them over Magnus’s numb lips, he leaves behind a black stain that Magnus can see if he flicks his eyes down. 

Magnus stays quiet, heart in his throat. Alec lifts their hands again and touches him, running polished fingers over skin and leaving trails of inky black. The contrast is stark, the moon-glow of Alec’s skin and the way the polish stains it. When it sticks to Magnus, it turns darker and smudges there, like charcoal pencils on a masterpiece, under a painters' loving hand. 

The heavy weight in his chest lifts. Alec puts kisses on his hands and wrists, raising them in the air and running his mouth from wrist to inner elbow, tracing the soft skin and jutting veins. Then he follows the trail with his fingers, dipped in shoe polish, until Magnus is a mess of stains that he never wants to wash off. 

The intimacy twists his chest into a pile of knots. He speaks to lessen the tangle of emotions. 

“This might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever done, and it involves edible shoe polish.”

“Spontaneity is romantic, and keeps a relationship alive,” Alec says, undeterred, against the curve of Magnus’s shoulder. He tugs his shirt down, popping buttons to get at bare skin, and Magnus props himself up on his elbows to watch, careful not to dislodge Alec. 

“You read that in my magazine,” Magnus says, delighted. His heart thrums and he reaches up to tentatively touch Alec’s hair. He can’t feel the silky strands as he tugs on them, but he remembers the way they feel. When Alec groans at another tug, it’s enough. 

“This doesn’t seem fair,” Magnus murmurs. “You’re making a mess, but I haven’t had a chance to return the favour.”

“Are you sure you don't want to wait until tomorrow?” Alec teases, already grasping for the pot of shoe polish. Magnus still feels--distant, somehow. Like he’s just an onlooker. But it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. 

He shoves until Alec sits up, trusting him to tell him if the touch is too rough, too much. Alec sits up, rather dishevelled, with inky patches on his mouth and chin and hands. His eyes are wild, but the way he cups Magnus’s face is gentle, the movements slow and sure. 

“I may not be able to feel it, but you can, love.” Magnus dips his fingers into the polish and smears more on his mouth, tasting cherry from his magic before he kisses Alec senseless. Alec half-leads when he fumbles blindly, and they clumsily find their way there, before parting with a shared rough breath. It’s still odd, and it still leaves him gasping. 

“Besides,” Magnus adds, leaving trails of black down Alec’s face as he rubs his thumb across his jaw, before taking his hand away entirely, “I don't have to touch you to see you come undone.”

Alec’s laugh is deep and joyful, with a rough, desperate edge. When he prises Magnus up off the couch and leads him to the bedroom, the shoe polish stays in his grip. When Magnus trips on the clouds under his feet, Alec catches him easily, and they hit the bed laughing, the afternoon rain drowning out the eager sounds that follow. 

Magnus wakes to Alec’s cold feet pressing against his shins. He lies in the dark, still as rock, and then rolls from the bed in one swift movement. The floor beneath his feet is cold too. The mirror, when he reaches it, is cool and firm beneath his fingertips. His pyjamas are his favourite silk-soft kind, and they don't hide the black marks staining his skin. He sheds them anyway, trying to see them all.

Alec has left a map of where they touched all over Magnus’s body. Grinning, Magnus touches his fingers to the corners of his lips, feeling them tremble and shake. Then he turns and looks at the dark hair spread all over the pillow, the hand already seeking out Magnus’s warmth, and the grumbling sounds uttered from beneath a mound of quilts. 

His laugh is a shock of noise in the quiet room. Magnus leaves the marks where they are and follows the map back to his bed, where he wraps his arms around Alec and peppers kisses up his neck to his mouth, revelling in the feeling of every single touch. Even in the dark, he can see the marks he left behind on Alec’s skin, vivid and real. He kisses as many as he can reach until Alec grunts.

“Why’re you ‘wake?”

“I felt like bothering you,” Magnus says, voice hushed with breathless relief. 

He kisses Alec again, on the mouth this time, and Alec wakes up enough to return it before sinking back into the pillows. He grunts again, grumpily, and Magnus finds himself tucking away his laughter.

“I was sleeping, y’know.”

“I know, love.” 

“Go back to sleep,” Alec slurs, still mostly asleep, as he presses his cold feet to Magnus’s shins once more in retribution. 

Magnus wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, lovely people!! Let me know what you thought! <3


End file.
